Praise the Light
by Alexander Shillens
Summary: As the Red Ajah begins their parade of the captured False Dragon-Logain Ablar-through the lands of Andor, rumors of an army of Dragonsworn bent on freeing him reach the ears of his captors. A single Green sister and her Warders are sent to investigate these rumors. But these rumors did not only land on Aes Sedai ears, and another force gathers to destroy the Dragonsworn.


The crackling of the logs in the campfire was the only noise to break the silence of the night. Even the slight sound of air escaping the thinly parted lips of the men feigning sleep did not disturb the quiet of the forest. Inwardly, Galvin cursed the orders that led his company and himself to this deserted forest. Even the game was sparse as the long winter dragged on, seemingly endless in its betrayal of spring. To think that Darkfriends would actually unite into a single, cohesive band was laughable. Those rumors had yet to yield even the faintest trace of such a band.

Restlessness finally got the better of Galvin, and he quickly got up to kick a few men "awake" and tell them off for guard duty. Just because they had yet to glimpse a Darkfriend did not mean that they were not out there anyways. Besides, there could be worse things taking cover in the night-shrouded woods. Shadowspawn. Tar Valon Witches.

Watching the chosen guards go off to their selected positions with one eye, he surveyed the rest of his troop with the other. As if his assigning guard duty had been a signal for the others, a more normal appearance of a slumbering camp had taken over. Already, a few snores were breaking the silence, and some men shifted in their sleep. Their identifying cloaks were hidden, and they slept upon simple homespun brown ones instead. There was no mistaking the organization of a camp of soldiers, though, and Galvin just hoped that any watching foes took them for a simple outlaw band or mercenary troop seeking refuge in the forest as something died down behind them. It was a slim chance, a mere veneer that was not likely to be bought. But this horrible attempt at subterfuge definitely beat combing the woods for this band of Darkfriends.

After Logain's recent capture, this band was most likely only a small group of Dragonsworn that had yet to lay down their arms. This far from Caemlyn, it was highly unlikely for any Queens Guards to take matters into their own hands, yet it was still considered a province of Andor, and not of Murandy. All the better, however, as it just made the prospect of interference a tiny threat on the distant horizon rather than a Shadow breathing down their backs.

Reports of this band had reached ears even as far as Amador, where there was always at least one ear pressed to ground, awaiting the hoofbeats of the Shadow's evil. To doubt that other ears had also heard the same was sheer folly, in the purest sense of the word. Even so, sometimes the wings of rumor are born from the airs of fear and hatred, and it was a waste of time for Galvin and his company to be in these Lightforsaken woods.

However, he knew that such thoughts only led down a dangerous path, as questioning any order of Pedron Niall's was. If the orders hadn't been signed by the Lord-General himself, then Galvin would certainly have abandoned this futile search days ago. But an order from Pedron Niall was not ignored lightly. Unless one wanted to find how snug the noose fit.

With a sigh, Galvin decided to take a more aggressive approach to this search, and divide his company so that they may search the woods quicker. It may prove to be a bit more dangerous, for if any of the individual groups did indeed find this fictional band of Darkfriends, then it would almost surely spell their death. Such was Galvin's confidence in the lack of reality of this band.

* * *

Jenetta Sedai frowned intensely at the damp wood that was refusing to yield a flame to Kilop's fire bow. If it weren't for her Warder's intense dislike for doing things with the Power that could be done by hand, she would have had a flame more than just kindled by now. But such were the sacrifices that one made for their Warders. She sensed out with her bond to find that Dern was less than a mile away, and had not been successful in his hunt, judging from the anger that was seething just below the surface of calm he tried to exude. Jakari, on the other hand, was brimming with self-satisfaction, so she expected something from her youngest Warder. He was still newly-bonded, and took great pleasure in pleasing his Aes Sedai. Jacov, the Warder she had been bonded with longest–nigh upon 20 years now–was out scouting for any sign of that band of Dragonsworn.

How they had gotten ahead of the procession bringing Logain to Andor still eluded her, but she would not waste time thinking on the past when it was the present that should be occupying her thoughts. It was sheer luck that had brought this rescue attempt to the attention of the Sisters guarding Logain. Jaem, Telena's Warder, had been visiting some of his kin while on their journey when he had learned of the Dragonsworn and their intended plans. To split their group in two, one set to ambush the procession with Logain while the second, smaller group rushed into the camp and freed their leader. It probably would have worked, too, as this group was nearly the size of the army that Logain had with him when he was defeated.

If she didn't know better, she would've accused Logain of planning this from the start. While they had not been moving swiftly by any stretch of the imagination, they had made very quick progress initially as they left the scene of the battlefield. This group would have had to pass them in order to have already been preparing for the ambush. When Logain had been questioned about this band's existence, the big man's eyes had betrayed knowledge of the group initially, but then he feigned ignorance. A little too well. But the man did have a good grasp on tactics, so the eventuality of his being defeated and captured may not have completely eluded the man. It could be possible that this group had been formed as a contingency against his capture. But that would go against the False Dragon's ego, and Jenetta sincerely doubted any plans that did that. Still, though, Logain had been the wiliest of any of the recent False Dragons.

_Recent_ False Dragons. Jenetta snorted at how easily her mind adapted to the reality of modern times. Her snort bought her an angry glance from Kilop, one that she adeptly ignored. During her times as both novice and Accepted, there had been exactly zero False Dragons, and now it seemed like they were more common than garden weeds. Some in the Tower whispered that this sudden surge in False Dragons was just the Pattern's way of trying to force what it knew was going to happen. That the Dragon Reborn was only breaths away from declaring himself. True, this was only whispered in the Tower, barely audible at that and never in the vicinity of any Reds.

But whispered it was.

The bond only gave her the barest warning. Kilop threw his fire bow into the snow, snarling, "_You_ do it then! Blood and bloody ashes! Stupid damp wood! Don't know how anyone is supposed to kindle a flame in this bloody weather!"

Not saying a word, Jenetta wove the flows of Fire to kindle the wood, not being able to resist the urge to snap her fingers in a flourish of her success and his failure. For good measure, she added a small pinch of Air on Kilop's backside for his language. He clapped his hand to his buttocks, but did not give her the satisfaction of making any noise. _Oh well_, Jenetta thought to herself. Kilop glared at her, his brow wrinkling in displeasure and casting his brown eyes in a shadow of anger. The man's face could easily have been used as a hammer at some point in his lifetime, judging from the numerous scars that danced across his features. His nose had been broken at least twice in his lifetime, but Jenetta knew what to expect of him by now. Kilop was a brawler, and only luck had brought the two of them together. Jenetta and Jacov had stopped off at a tavern, and while Jacov was attending the horses, a few ruffians had begun directing rude remarks Jenetta's way. Kilop hadn't wasted a minute in leaping to her defense, but it was with his fists, not his tongue, and a broken nose was the least of his worries by the time the fight was over. Bonding him had been the only way to save his life, yet death seemed far too cruel a reward for his chivalrous behavior. As it turned out, Jenetta couldn't have found a better Warder had she been on the prowl, so nobody ever had to find out about her little bending of the rules as far as Warders were concerned.

At that moment, Jenetta sensed something happening to Jacov. All of a sudden a feeling of panic surged through the bond, quickly followed by determination. Jenetta knew her Warder was under attack when she felt pain blossom through the bond.

* * *

Moving with the utter silence of death, a form barely distinguishable in the shadows flitted from bush to shrub to tree. Without even the swish of fabric or a rustle of dead leaves, Jacov moved through the forest, senses straining for any sign of other people. Somehow, he _knew_ that others were close by, yet he could not sense them anywhere. Deciding to be daring, Jacov threw back his color-changing cloak and walked out in the open, seemingly appearing out of thin air behind a tree.

A few steps later, he realized his mistake.

Behind him, he heard the unmistakable sound of a drawn bow.

Diving to his right, Jacov narrowly avoided being skewered by the arrow as he turned his dive into a roll. As time began to slow in his burst of adrenaline, Jacov noticed that the arrow was fletched in gold and blue as it struck a knot of wood, but then he completed his roll and the arrow was out of sight. Coming out of his roll, Jacov had a throwing dagger in either hand, his right hand already in motion, tossing in the general direction of the origin of the arrow. Without waiting for his dagger to land, he whipped his left hand forward and let the other dagger fly, barely even registering the branch movement that betrayed the would-be-assassin. He was rewarded by a curse and indrawn breath.

Twisting to the side, he drew his long-bladed knife and hand-axe to confront the man he miraculously knew was coming up from behind him. His opponent's thrust went wide and Jacov wasted no time in savagely eviscerating the man with the knife in his right hand. More men were coming, and Jacov knew that he had stumbled on the band of Dragonsworn. They must have camped in a close-by clearing, and the man in the tree must have been a sentry. Jacov did a quick count and estimated that seven or eight men were about to confront him, and more would follow in a few heartbeats.

Jacov decided to fall back on the age-old strategy for when one was confronted by too many opponents.

He ran.

After maybe a minute of running, Jacov turned around, ready to fight for his life. The two quickest of his pursuers were close on his heels, and unprepared for his sudden change in direction.

Jacov parried the first man's instinctive thrust with his knife, the hand-axe in his left hand quickly slicing his opponent's throat open in a crimson splash. His right hand came back in a stab, diving straight for the second man's heart. Barely getting his sword up in time, his opponent parried his blow. But the hand-axe came back into play, cutting a deep gash into the Dragonsworn's right shoulder. With his sword-arm useless, the Dragonsworn could do nothing but watch as the bloodied knife came in and tore his throat out.

As the second Dragonsworn dropped to the ground drowning in his own blood, Jacov saw that another man had come on the scene. This one with a bow. Before he could even move, the arrow took him in his left thigh, eliminating the possibility of escape.

Reversing his grip on the long-bladed knife, Jacov hurled it with all his might at the unlucky bowman. End over end the knife flew, crimson drops of blood flying every which way. The knife took the man directly in the center of his neck, the tip of the blade emerging from the other side. Even as the Dragonsworn died, three more men entered the fray, the first one not even given a chance to duck as the thrown hand-axe embedded itself in the man's skull.

Drawing the sword from his shoulder in what he knew was going to be a futile effort, Jacov vowed to take down as many of the Dragonsworn as he could before he too was slain.

The other two men hung back for a few seconds as other members of their band joined them, and soon enough Jacov was surrounded by Dragonsworn.

The first to come at him from behind had his head separated from his shoulders as Jacov spun on his good right leg. But pain flared in his left leg as a thrown rock hit the arrow still embedded in his thigh. Stifling a cry of pain, Jacov couldn't help going down on one knee. Another sword came in on his right, and—somehow—Jacov managed to get his sword up for a parry and riposted, taking the man in the stomach.

Darkness enveloped him at the same time that red pain flared in the back of his head, and Jacov knew no more.

* * *

"Jacov!" Jenetta cried out in alarm.

"What?" Kilop exclaimed, rising to his feet in a movement so quick as to be surprising from such a large man. The war hammer in his hands seemingly appearing from out of thin air. Glancing from side to side in alarm, he looked back to his Aes Sedai in concern.

"Jacov! Something has happened to Jacov! He's no longer conscious. We must go to him!" said in a near scream, her voice tinged with the beginnings of hysteria.

"Jenetta! Calm yourself. If something has happened to Jacov, we will need both Dern and Jakari with us to go after him," the Warder responded reasonably.

"We can't wait! What if he has fallen and hurt himself! He needs our help, now!"

"If it is a simple fall, then Jacov will feel foolish for us coming to his 'rescue.' On the other hand, if he has stumbled onto the Dragonsworn, then not only are they better than we suspected to have taken him down, but you and I will not be sufficient to rescue him. Waiting for Dern and Jakari is our best and only plan of action."

"Fine!" Jenetta Sedai exclaimed reluctantly, the single word seemingly dragged out of her.

* * *

Groaning, Jacov came back to the world of the living. He was in a tent, trussed up like a hog for slaughter. In the tent with him were five men, each burlier and stronger than the next.

"He's awake," one of the men said, his voice worlds away. "Get the General."

A cold breeze signified a man leaving the tent, and Jacov attempted to do a recount of the men in the tent, but four was too high a number for him to count to in his present state. Shifting in his bonds in a vain effort to get more comfortable, the only solace his efforts bought him was a swift kick to his left thigh, and the pain made him momentarily forget about attaining comfort.

"Stay still."

Minutes passed by in the span of years, and finally the tent flap opened again, admitting a man that Jacov was fairly sure was already in the tent. The man who followed after caused his heart to stop. The rescue attempt had already happened. Logain Ablar was now in the same tent as the Warder.

No, the man in front of him was _not_ Logain, Jacov realized. Not quite as tall, nor as broad, the man also had jet black hair. Most striking about him were his eyes, though. Whereas in Logain the intelligence and cunning were clear in the eyes, fervor and ruthlessness abounded in this man's blue orbs. The other difference was the man's cloak, for the last Jacov remembered, that cloak had been around his own shoulders.

"The question is, what is a Warder doing this far in the middle of nowhere? No towns or cities close by, no sign of civilization. What is your purpose, and where is your Aes Sedai," the man asked, his voice resonating in the silent winter night. When Jacov remained silent, the man answered his own question. "Obviously one of the Lightblinded fools who captured the Dragon Reborn. You will regret holding my cousin captive, for the Lord Dragon's wrath shall know no bounds once I free him. The White Tower will crumble beneath his power, and all will bow down to the savior of mankind." Pausing for breath, Logain's cousin added, "Again, where is your Aes Sedai?"

Despite the hammers pounding in his head, Jacov managed to spit, the spittle coming well short of the general's boot.

"Very well." Turning to his guards, Ablar said, "Strip him. Gag him. Stake him outside in the snow. His discomfort will bring the bitch running. And we'll be ready for her."

"But, General Ablar, a man dead from exposure won't bri—"

"But the man won't die. His bond will keep him alive long enough for his witch to come to her death," Ablar replied, the sneer on his face evident in his voice. That being said, he turned around and left the tent, leaving his men to cut the clothes off the Warder.

* * *

In the pre-dawn light, the Whitecloak camp was already breaking. Scouts had returned in the deep of the night with news. The rumors weren't just rumors, but cold, hard fact. It was more than a band of Darkfriends in these woods, but an army slightly larger than the group Galvin had with him. Praising the Light for blessing him with this information before dividing his force, Galvin prepared his men for battle. The sound of whetstones on blades broke the early morning silence, bows were newly strung with fresh string, the jingle of tack as horses were saddled. Fortunately, the army of Darkfriends lay to the west, and if they acted soon enough, the Whitecloaks could strike with the morning dawn from behind and in the eyes of the Darkfriends. It seemed fitting that the Light itself would fight in this small battle against the Shadow, and Galvin was reassured.

* * *

Having removed the cloak from Jacov's bond that Jenetta had placed in the night—the only reason she had gotten any sleep, yet it still struck her as a betrayal to Jacov—she sped towards her hurt Warder with Dern, Kilop and Jakari in tow. The amount of pain and discomfort rolling through the bond dismayed Jenetta, and her heart bled for her Warder. She cursed the qualities of the bond that allowed her to know that her Warder was near death yet did not tell her what kind of danger he was in. She still had no idea whether Jacov was suffering from a broken bone from a misplaced step or a battle injury, but she vowed that he would be in her care once again regardless of the situation.

Abruptly, Dern called for a stop in front of a tree. The best tracker after Jacov, something had caught his eye.

"There's a nick in this tree, right where this frozen sap is," he said, gesturing at eye-level for the Aes Sedai on the tree. Scraping his foot in the fresh snow, his foot revealed pink snow, obviously dyed from someone's lifeblood. More scraping revealed an arrow in the snow, and more blood. Someone had died here, maybe more than one.

The group continued on, dread weighing Jenetta Sedai's heart like lead. No simple fall would explain Jacov's injury, which meant he had fallen into the hands of the Dragonsworn.

After a couple more minutes of travel, slower than before as Dern's senses strained for more signs of what might have happened to Jacov, another sign was found.

One of Jacov's twin throwing daggers was embedded halfway to the hilt in a tree, and more droplets of frozen blood were found in the head-high branches of the tree.

"Someone was in this tree, and Jacov must have hit him with one of his knives. I don't know whether he killed the man or not, but he definitely hit him," Dern said, unconsciously thumbing the edge of the axe strapped to his side.

Sensing out along the bond, Jenetta knew that they were very close to Jacov, which meant that they were also very close to the Dragonsworn. The four continued at a much slower pace, spread out a little, and Jakari found a sleeping sentry. Without pausing to reconsider, the exuberant Warder awakened the man with the cold kiss of steel, and the sentry was awake long enough to die.

Only a few steps more carried the foursome to the outskirts of the camp, and the bond drew Jenetta's eyes immediately to Jacov. Arms stretched out to either side, feet bound together and legs pulled straight, Jacov was staked out in the cold snow. Naked. It was all she could do not to rush to his aid. Kilop laid a restraining hand on her shoulder, and she took a deep, calming breath.

Jakari wrapped his color-changing cloak around his shoulders and pulled the hood. He even brought up the extra cloth he had had made in imitation of an Aiel _shoufa_ and he seemingly disappeared before their very eyes. Of the three remaining Warders with Jenetta, Jakari was definitely the best at moving silently, his slender build ideal for such movement. The bond was the only sign that Jenetta had of Jakari leaving her side and approaching Jacov.

* * *

Ablar leaned against the tree trunk, mere feet from where the Warder lay staked out in the snow. His lieutenants had passed the word to the rest of the men to be prepared but to look inactive, and Ablar was sure the Aes Sedai would rush in to save her Warder. Wrapped in the cloak he had taken from the Warder, he felt prepared for the witch.

Not even an hour had passed with him leaning against the tree before he noticed slight indentations in the snow approaching the staked and gagged Warder. He realized that another Warder must be approaching, and, if he concentrated hard enough, he could just make out the figure of the approaching man despite his eyes wrenching around him. Whether this meant he was facing multiple Sisters or a single Green, he didn't care; his whole body tensed in preparation for the fatal blow he was ready to deliver.

When the new Warder was within range, Ablar exploded into motion. Whipping the cloak from around his shoulders, his already-drawn sword came in for an overhand strike, taking the barely-seen Warder in what he hoped was the man's throat. Dead or dying still in the color-shifting cloak, the very snow itself seemed to erupt in blood. Ablar reversed his grip on the sword and plunged it into the chest of the captured Warder, releasing him from the cold of winter and delivering him into the icy clutches of death.

* * *

Galvin approached the camp from the east, the rising sun at his back. What he found was a surprise even to him. A man lay out in the snow, most likely staked out there, wearing not a stitch of clothing. Meanwhile, there was no movement in the camp at all. Campfires still smoldered from the remains of the night's fires, but no one was awake yet. He realized that there had been no need for him to hurry and get here with the dawning sun, as the camp appeared to be prepared to sleep until noon.

Abruptly a man appeared out of the very trunk of the tree where the naked man lay staked, swinging a sword at thin air. Galvin began to wonder at what kind of madness he had stumbled on when red blood exploded into the morning air and stained the snow. It continued to pump out of nowhere, and Galvin realized that he must be witnessing a fight between Warders. The man then stabbed the bound, naked man through the heart. Killing him if the cold hadn't already claimed its prize. Then, the lone survivor was thrown against the tree with enough force to knock snow from the uppermost branches, and the entire camp exploded with activity.

This camp had been pulling the same ploy that Galvin had had his men pull last night, and he had almost fallen for it.

Twisting in his saddle to look at his men, he silently gave the hand code to be ready to charge at his orders.

* * *

Jenetta couldn't believe her eyes. In a matter of heartbeats she both witnessed and felt two of her Warders killed. The shockwave along the bonds nearly incapacitated her enough to the point of immobility, but she managed to slam the murderer against the tree with a wall of Air. As she did, the entire camp filled with soldiers, and for the first time, she realized that she might be in over her head.

With two of her Warders dead and soldiers rushing her, desiring her death, she was free from her Oath not to use the Power to harm. And use the Power she did. The Earth itself exploded beneath the feet of the rushing soldiers, and they died by the score as frozen earth and rocks ripped their flesh apart. She called lightning down from the cloudless skies and directed it into the most concentrated clumps of soldiers, sending charred corpses flying in every direction.

Dern and Kilop were in the thick of it as well, Kilop's hammer head and spiked handle alternately claiming lives with every swing, Dern's axe scything through the men like so much wheat.

As the range lessened and the soldiers got closer, Jenetta began using fireballs instead, but the soldiers still came on, climbing over the burnt corpses to reach her. Without an _angreal_, Jenetta was tiring quickly, and Dern and Kilop had to fall back to better protect their Aes Sedai.

Fighting almost shoulder-to-shoulder with their Aes Sedai behind them, the two Warders held off the massing soldiers. Kilop blocked a sword thrust with the haft of his axe, head butting his foe directly in the face. He was rewarded with the sound of the Dragonsworn's nose being splattered to the side of his face. He then whipped the end of the hammer into the side of the man's head, shattering his skull. Another man's sword slipped through his defenses and grazed his side, but the man didn't even have time to pull the sword back before Kilop's hammer crashed down on his head.

Meanwhile, Dern was still swinging his huge battleaxe, separating heads from shoulders and limbs from bodies. Deep gashes appeared in Dragonsworn chests, and the bodies began to pile around the two Warders.

An arrow came whizzing in, directly into Dern's left eye. The dead Warder dropped to the ground.

Kilop shouted, "Run, Jenetta," and dove into the fray with the reckless abandon that he had shown on the day that Jenetta had bonded him.

Jenetta knew that this time, bonding was not an option to save the life of her last remaining Warder, even as her knees gave out from under her as the shockwave of Dern's death came surging through the bond.

Another arrow came in, striking Kilop in the shoulder. Still the hammer swung, crushing men's skulls like overripe pumpkins. Another arrow flew into the fight, this one taking down a Dragonsworn by mistake. A third arrow, striking Kilop in the chest. Still Dragonsworn fell to Kilop's hammer.

From her knees in the snow, Jenetta knew that she and Kilop were dead. There was no way that Kilop could continue to fight, not with two arrows sticking out of him, more bowmen still firing, and her with not enough energy to even summon an unopened flower in her mind.

Then, with the golden morning sun behind him, a blond man came riding towards the battle, sword drawn and reflecting golden rays. A cloak of purest white spread out behind him like wings, and she knew that the Creator himself had come to her aid. Two more Creators followed the first, and her heart surged with hope when she realized that rescue might have arrived.

More and more men came pouring into the clearing, some on horseback, some on foot. The Dragonsworn didn't even realize that foes were behind them until their companions screamed out their death rattles. The first to die were the Dragonsworn archers, and then the wedge of Light struck the main force of Dragonsworn.

Unbelievably, Kilop had succeeded in holding them off.

Even as she thought this and looked towards her Warder, another shockwave of death surged through the bond, further weakening the exhausted Aes Sedai. Kilop lay on his back, four arrows protruding from his body, a gaping slash in his belly exposing his steaming intestines to the cold, winter morning air.

Before the Dragonsworn could converge on the helpless Jenetta Sedai, the wedge broke through their forces, neatly dividing them in twain. With a much more dangerous foe on their hands, the Dragonsworn turned their attention on Jenetta's saviors. It was too little, too late, and they were methodically cut down to the last man.

A pair of horse's hooves appeared before Jenetta, she on her hands and knees and breathing heavily from the exhaustion of over-exerting herself with the Power and the loss of four Warders in such a short time span. It was a miracle that she was still conscious.

"Praise…the Light," Jenetta gasped, looking up to see the man that she had first mistaken to be the Creator.

The last thing she saw in life was the golden sunburst on the white field of the man's cloak.

"Praise the Light, indeed," Galvin repeated, barely audible. Turning to his men, he shouted, "Let's return home, boys! We have a glorious victory to report to the Lord-General. An army of Darkfriends slaughtered, and a Tar Valon Witch to boot!"


End file.
